I sat in the library on Friday between classes,
when I got a text from him again.
GUY-GUY FRENCHIE
Where r u
Library
What floor
3
Ten minutes later, Guy appeared in front of me with a sly smirk. He slapped a bag of M&M’s down on the table in front of me.
“There, you brat. Now will you wear it?”
“Well, hello to you, too.”
“I met your demand. You have to meet mine.”
“You have to be quiet in here, Guy,” I teased.
He ripped open the pack of M&Ms, shoved a handful in his mouth, and threw one at me. “I’ll see you tonight.”
* * *
Violet promised to be good, so that night, we took our seats at the hockey arena. Guy had given us seats right on the ice. On a normal day, that would be fine, but I wasn’t feeling great. My periods were devastatingly bad, the killer combo of painful, long, and heavy. Sometimes the pain was so bad I threw up. This wasday two, usually my worst day. I’d taken medicine, but sometimes that didn’t cut it. This was one of those times. Thankfully, my bloating was hidden by Guy’s giant sweatshirt, which I paired with some loose jeans and a winter hat.
We watched both teams take the ice to warm up. It didn’t take long to find Guy. He stopped by our seats in a flash of sprayed ice and pounded on the glass, as if I wasn’t already looking at him.
“HI, KITTY BIRD. YOU LOOK NICE,” he yelled through the glass.
I giggled, tired, and waved back. “Hi, Guy-Guy. Thank you.”
He must have noticed my drawn expression because he pulled off his helmet.
“What’s wrong?” he mouthed.
I shook my head and waved him off. He stuck out his lower lip, then blew me a kiss before putting his helmet back on and moving on.
“See what I mean? We’re weird together.”
“That was insanely cute,” Violet said. “He likes you.”
“I don’t know. That’s just how we are. I’m getting popcorn and a soda. You want anything?”
Watching Guy play again was borderline enchanting. He was in the first line, not surprising. I’d forgotten the fluid grace with which he moved, and he’d gotten more aggressive since I saw him last. Watching him check a guy into the boards somehow got my blood moving, and for a while, I almost forgot my period misery. He really was professional grade.
His skating had gotten faster and smoother, his legs more powerful. I was happy for him that he’d gotten to go back to Quebec. Otherwise, he might have missed out on the chance to play at a higher level and get drafted. Though he’d loved his coach back home, West Virginia didn’t have the resources to keep up with someone of his skill level. It’s not hockey country.
In the second period, Guy stole the puck from one of Princeton’sforwards, driving down the ice toward the goal. He netted it from way deep, lighting the lamp and setting off the crowd. I didn’t notice that I was on my feet screaming too until he skated to where his teammates stood by our seats. He celebrated with his teammates, but before skating back to the bench for high-fives, he shot a wink and a “love you” over his shoulder to me.
“Did he just say that he loves you?!” Violet squealed.
“Yeah, we do that,” I said, straining to be heard over the crowd.
“Okay, yeah, you two are weird.”
